On the first view of the case, there appears a degree of barbarity in the conduct of Wallace, which is quite at variance with that affection and tenderness which he had uniformly displayed towards his adherents; and we cannot help condemning the sternness of that policy which could thus deprive a follower of his life, because worn out with toil, and disabled by wounds, he could no longer keep up with his companions. But, on reflection, we find the lives of Wallace, and of the few that remained of the party, placed in jeopardy by one, who, from his reluctance to make a little farther exertion, when assured that a place of safety was at hand, gave good grounds to suspect that he had become unsound at the core. We may also remark, that being acquainted with the spot where the plunder taken from the English was concealed, Wallace had an additional reason to suspect Fawdon’s motives for wishing to be left behind; and it may be urged in support of the justice of this suspicion, that his countryman Stephen, who introduced him to the little band of patriots, remained the firm and confidential friend of Wallace through all his difficulties. This he certainly would not have done, had Wallace, on slight grounds, inflicted death on one who was not only his friend and countryman, but in some degree under his protection. So far, indeed, was Stephen from feeling dissatisfaction at the conduct of Wallace, that he and Kerle lingered behind, and, favoured by the shades of night, which had now set in, mingled with the enemy; and while their general, Sir Gerald Heron, was in the act of stooping to examine the body of Fawdon, whose blood had arrested the progress of the slough-hound, Kerle watched the opportunity, and gave him a mortal stab in the throat with his dagger. The cry of “Treason!” arose among the English; but, in the confusion, the two confederates slipped down unobserved among the underwood that surrounded them, and made the best of their way towards Loch Earne, the well-wooded banks of which afforded them every chance of security. In the interval, Wallace, and thirteen of his followers, all that were now left him, made good their retreat to the deserted Castle of Gask situated in the middle of a wood. This place possessed few advantages that could recommend it as a desirable retreat; but, to men in their desperate situation, the prospect of shelter from the swords of their pursuers was a considerable relief, and though it appeared in a sad state of dilapidation, a number of the apartments were entire; and the courtyard was surrounded by a wall of great thickness, which, broken as it might be in some parts, would nevertheless enable them to make a tolerable defence. With this expectation, therefore, they determined to secure themselves for the night, and trust to their good swords for a path through their enemies in the morning.
CHAPTER VII.
SINGULAR ADVENTURE OF WALLACE IN GASK CASTLE.—KILLS THE ENGLISH LEADER.—ESCAPES TO TORWOOD.—INTERVIEW WITH HIS UNCLE.
After the confusion produced by the death of the English leader had subsided, a party of forty men were despatched with the dead body to St Johnstone; and Butler, who had so far recovered from his wound as to be able to take the field under Sir Gerald, remained, with about five hundred men, to look after the fugitives. With this force he proceeded to secure all the neighbouring passes, and to take such other methods as he thought would prevent their escape.
In the meantime, Wallace and his few remaining friends had put their place of refuge in as good a state of defence as its ruinous condition would admit; and having procured a sheep from a neighbouring fold, they kindled a fire in the courtyard, and prepared for their evening repast. Wallace now wisely considered, from the fatigue his followers had undergone during the day, that however much they might stand in want of refreshment, a few hours repose would be absolutely necessary for recruiting their wearied and exhausted spirits, and rendering them fit for the arduous enterprise that awaited them in the morning. As soon, therefore, as they had allayed their hunger, he ordered them to betake themselves to rest, while he undertook to keep watch by himself.
Surrounded by his sleeping companions, with no light but what the expiring embers afforded, the mind of Wallace became overshadowed with melancholy forebodings. Though in the late conflicts he had destroyed a great number of the enemy, his own little band had been almost annihilated; and, in his present situation, he saw little probability of filling up their places with men on whom he could put the same dependence. Two of his most devoted partisans, Stephen and Kerle, had disappeared; and he had every reason to suppose they were either slain, or fallen into the hands of the enemy. The apathy with which the most powerful of the nobility continued to witness the exertions of himself and his followers for the independence of their country, filled him with grief and indignation; while, from the loss of so many brave friends in the late encounter, he was apprehensive his few remaining companions would now consider their undertaking as desperate. These reflections, aided by the consideration that he was actually surrounded by a force against which his expectations of success could not be very sanguine, tended to excite the most gloomy apprehensions.
From this state of mind, he was suddenly aroused by the blowing of horns,[80] mingled with frightful yells, which seemed to proceed from a rising ground in the neighbourhood. Two of his party were despatched to ascertain the cause of the uproar; but these not returning, and the alarm still increasing, other scouts were sent out, till Wallace was at last left alone, without any one to assist in the defence of the place, if it should happen to be attacked.
It was now past midnight; and the flame that still lingered about the remains of the almost extinguished faggots, continued, at intervals, to throw its pale and flickering light on the ruinous walls of the castle, when Wallace was suddenly startled by the shadow of a human figure. Though broken and indistinct at first, yet the moon, which was slowly emerging from behind a cloud, rendered it every moment more apparent. From the feet to the shoulders, which was all of it that was visible, it seemed to be of uncommon dimensions; and what more particularly rivetted the attention of the forlorn chief, a human head hung dangling from its hand, in a manner that gave it the appearance of something supernatural. While gazing with intense anxiety on this singular object, its hand was slowly raised, and the head, which it held, after striking the helmet of Wallace, fell with considerable violence among the dying embers before him. Snatching it up, he discovered, by the light of the moon, the pale and ghastly features of the “ill-fated Fawdon;” and, turning towards the place from whence it was thrown, he observed the figure of a man endeavouring to descend by a broken part of the wall. In the excitement of the moment, he hurled the head after it, and, drawing his sword, hastened from the castle in pursuit of the strange intruder.
Henry, or his authority, in narrating the above circumstance, gives way to the popular belief of his time, and describes it as the real apparition of the late faithless associate; but this evidently arises from that love for the marvellous peculiar to the age. When stripped of the poetical embellishments with which it is clothed, the story simply appears to have been this:—The English, on coming to the headless body of Fawdon, naturally conceived that the Scots had quarrelled among themselves; and some one thinking it probable, from the size, that the deceased might be Wallace, for whose head a considerable reward was offered, took care to secure the prize. The impatience of Butler for revenge made him think of a night-attack, provided they could discover the enemy; and the horns, therefore, which had been taken from those Scots who had fallen in the conflict, were made use of as a ruse to entrap them into the belief, that it was a party of their countrymen coming to their assistance. The soldier, who had got the head into his possession, appears to have been one of the scouts sent in search of the fugitives; and no doubt, eager to ascertain the value of his capture, had ventured forward with more confidence than his companions. Disappointment at finding the Scottish chief alive, no doubt, induced him to throw the head; and the terror which his name inspired made him likewise think it prudent to effect his retreat.